Prologue

Two years earlier,

With the slightest touch, the tiny object flickered alight and vibrated with a faint buzz as Tarefir set it down onto the grass. It hobbled and teetered as it tried to right itself, taking in the sight of the man looming before it. 
It didn't like what it could see. 
Immediately, its internal light dimmed off as the little octahedron-shaped ornament fell over onto its side, appearing as a slender, frosty-white diamond lying lifeless in the weeds. It couldn't recognize this stranger who now bent down for it, and it would not respond. 
But the man's touch was familiar. His DNA was familiar. 
"Come now, don't be like this," Tarefir said with a huff, a gentle Germanic lilt flavoring his English. "You know who I am," He picked the object up again and set it upright, where it levitated lightly above the ground. 
But it was still playing difficult. Tarefir expected as much. 
The object again held Tarefir in its sights. It refused to acknowledge him with its lights this time. Never had it seen such a clothed, bipedal creature, except in the way of shared thoughts and memory - but never before in person. Where was the master? 
Tarefir-Castant-Sahiilion was well-acquainted with his surroundings and this world. He had previously lived here a number of years, at times choosing to blend in with the populace as an inquisitive intellectual, hungering for knowledge and curious of culture. This was certainly only by choice, though his people's presence here had dwindled to the minute few in the last decade. Taking on the form of another to match those around you, was simply easier. 
Tarefir was, by all accounts, more than adjusted. But his little device, however, was not so much. 
"Please, I brought you out here for a task - not to play games," said Tarefir frustratingly, brushing back his wind-ruffled copper hair. "You know who I am. I am your creator. You'll do as I say." 
The man spoke in strange, audible tones and vowels that the device did not appreciate.
<I do not recognize you,> the object responded in its programmed thought-speech, the automated, silent words both heard and unheard in the mind, and directed them to the stranger. <You do not have the right permissions.>
Tarefir cocked his head in apparent bewilderment. At least it spoke, and that was a start. Composing himself then, he decided on a different approach. If it could only be reasoned with by way of both their native dialect, then so be it. 
<I do indeed have the right permissions!> Tarefir demanded silently back to the object. <I am your master and your handler, and you will stop this stubbornness! I do not have time for your moods - especially now!>
All at once, the device began to strobe an array of lights, colors, and clicks. It was its way of displaying both excitement and affection, a behavior it had developed on its own. 
<Will you forgive my error?> the object pleaded as Tarefir bent down for it, gingerly bringing it upwards from the ground to give it a more elevated stance. 
<You know I can't always be in my true form for you,> Tarefir replied in gentle thoughts. <You understand? You're going to have to learn and remember what morphs I do take - and be able to see me through them. But that is not why I have brought you out here.>
Tarefir removed his hand as the device remained right where he'd positioned it, suspended in the air as still and rigid as if to be firmly attached by some unseen force. 
<Now, do not lose sight of the task I've assigned you,> Tarefir went on. <Today, you will be gathering that information. I've already given you the necessary data for reference. You are to find whatever trace of them remains - and from there, we'll go to wherever it leads us. You're going to find them.>
The tiny device began to radiate a soft glow that grew brighter and brighter, alternating between shades of gold, green, and luminous violet. <I remember this discussion,> it replied in what could only be perceived as excitement. <Is this about The Eight?>
Tarefir both smiled and half-closed his warm, brown eyes in a tender slant, an expression he couldn't help even while maintaining a human guise. 
<Yes, that is correct,> he answered. <You're going to find The Eight.>